


Better to Reign

by CurseOfSaffron



Series: Better to Reign [1]
Category: Ghost (Swedish Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 17:36:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8170190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurseOfSaffron/pseuds/CurseOfSaffron
Summary: Morningstar's war is starting to spill over into the realm of man.  A stranger inadvertently falls in with Papa and the Ghouls, and gets caught up in more than their cause.





	1. The Intruder

My involvement with Morning Star and his colleagues happened accidentally. I wouldn't have thought such a thing was possible--for several completely valid reasons--but I managed nevertheless.

  
I'd moved into a third storey walk-up in the East End. It was kind of a shitty apartment, in kind of a shitty part of town, but I hadn't been in a position to be too choosy. The apartment had been shoved into an awkward space (in this case, the building's former attic) as an afterthought, then cobbled together from the leftover components of the other units. It had a mauve shag carpet that was at least ten years my senior, oddly sticky walls, and low ceilings that coalesced into unlikely angles.

  
It was something like my third night in the place when it got broken into.  
I was out cold, sleeping off a late night, when I heard the unmistakable sound of my front door being jiggled. The place was basically a studio, since no one had bothered to hang a door between the living room and my bedroom. I'd tacked up a tapestry. Which wasn't much help.

  
Luckily, even in a dead drunken sleep, my ambient paranoia bolted me awake. I was instantly aware that I was in mortal fucking danger. I shrieked, and the sound coming from me in no way resembled my actual voice, time slowing to a crawl. Mortal terror is funny like that. I was still fumbling for my glasses when the man appeared in the doorway.

  
I couldn't see much of the intruder, since he was backlit from my living room windows and I'm pretty useless without corrective lenses. He was big, and smelled like stale cigarettes. His head turned toward me...then he looked in the opposite direction, over to the other side of the room.

  
I didn't see what he was looking at until it moved, a vaguely man-shaped, dark blur that hurtled out of the shadows silently. I got the impression of long limbs, the glint of silver, and felt the air move. Then this newest stranger plowed headlong into the first. There was virtually no struggle, only a wet-sounding crunch, and the first man collapsed like a sack of wet cement.

  
Now firmly over the horizon of panic and into the realm of gibbering senselessness, I abandoned the effort to find my glasses and froze up like a frightened deer in the headlights of a car. My mind was so jammed up by the impossible situation unfolding in front of me that I couldn't do anything but tremble convulsively, backed up into a corner on my stupid futon mattress.

  
The winner of the scuffle turned toward me, leading with his head in a way that made me think of a shark or some other predator. I got another impression of gleaming metal and realized that he was wearing a mask. He stepped over the dead man casually and took a few long strides toward me. I wanted to close my eyes but I couldn't manage it, so I just gaped myopically.

  
He knelt beside my mattress on the floor, finally close enough that I could see the details of his form. He was in some sort of formalwear, black on black, with a long jacket that buttoned all the way up to his throat. There was a sort of tabard around his midsection, from which silver sigils glinted. The ensemble was all-concealing and austere, like an orchestra conductor's tux by way of a priest's cassock.

  
I was sure at this point that I was about to be killed in some creative way. He was now an arm's length away, at my level. He was intent on something on the floor alongside my mattress for a moment, then, apparently satisfied, he turned to look at me. My eyes finally closed, and the next moments felt like years. Then I felt him carefully put my glasses back onto my face.

  
I opened my eyes, unable to resist.

  
He hadn't moved. He was sitting on his heels, hands (his only exposed skin) on his thighs. He was indeed wearing a mask. Burnished silver, it was molded into the shape of an angular, mouthless face, topped by the stylized representation of sleek hair, and tiny pointed horns.   
He put his head on one side like a puzzled dog, blinking at me from behind eye-shaped holes, then reality shifted slightly, my ears popped, and he was...gone.

* * *

 

The next few days were not great for me. For one, I had to explain to the police why I had a dead guy with a broken neck in my bedroom.

  
They were skeptical that I had heard the guy breaking in, leapt out of bed like a fucking ninja, and twisted his head halfway off. All while half-drunk from the night before, and utterly clueless about any style of hand-to-hand fighting.

  
They spent a very intense few hours interviewing me, then some more searching my place. But there wasn't much to see. Seemed my new friend didn't have fingerprints.   
As for the guy, he had a warrant out for breaking and entering and was suspected of some other similarly awful shit. When these facts emerged, the cops were more amicable. They congratulated me on my unlikely act of bravery, and that was the end of it.

  
I stayed at a hotel for a few days, and would have stayed longer if I wasn't so broke. I retreated into myself, a little disturbed that I was apparently living with murderous Satan-themed ghosts or losing my fucking mind. I didn't tell anyone what I'd seen-- which was easy considering that I knew no one, and couldn't even quite grasp what had happened myself.

Eventually I slunk back to my apartment, where I spent the next few hours frantically cleaning and unpacking, as though windex and throw-rugs would dispel the feeling of total weirdness out of the place.

  
Then, naturally, I dug a fifth of Jameson out of the freezer and proceeded to get completely shitfaced.

  
Sitting on the horrible carpet in my living room, my guitar in my lap, I felt better. The landlord had changed the locks, which would keep out the criminal element. As for the preternatural masked men, well...by then I had begun to dismiss it as a one-off. A little mental hiccup, brought on by profound fear. I was subconsciously some kind of bad ass, and actually HAD killed the guy, then invented the masked defender later. Everyone was entitled to the occasional psychotic break, right?

  
Pleasantly wasted, I slid down onto my back, still playing along with the music in my head. I'd been working on a song since before my life collapsed and I was very nearly happy with it. I let myself be carried away, losing myself, however briefly, in that subtle magic of creation.

  
"Mmn. Yes. I can see the appeal." An unfamiliar male voice murmured from across the room, clear as crystal.

  
Had I been halfway sober, I would have been on my feet and out the door by the end of the statement. As it was, I managed only to shriek and scramble back into a seated position, heart pounding in my ears, adrenaline lighting up every nerve. There was a man, or something quite similar to a man, leaning casually against my wall.

  
"...The fuck...Christ! Who are you?" I demanded.

  
The stranger leaned in, eyes narrowed, surveying my face. He waved a white gloved hand in front of him a few times, palm out. His eyes widened.

  
"Oh! Well. Hello there, little one."

  
This was not my first inkling that something unnatural was happening. Not only had he appeared out of thin air (and called me, an adult woman with a history and a lot of tattoos, "little one"), he was also an odd sight.

  
He was wearing the sort of formal wear that had once been in vogue in the 1910's and 20's-- a crisp black fitted tuxedo jacket, white buttoned shirt, spats, and gloves. His hair was very dark, slicked back away from his face and shiny like patent leather. I thought at first that his face was painted, but looking closer I realized that he too was wearing a mask. It conformed to his face perfectly, and would have been barely perceptible if it wasn't for the colors. It was like a simplified death's head, stark white, black around the hollows of his eyes, under his cheekbones. His top lip was black as well, while his full lower lip was unmarked. From behind the mask, one hazel-green eye and one pale blue one glittered.

  
"Oh no." I finally said.

  
He arched a brow at me, and his gaze drifted upward, over my head. I whipped around and saw that two of the silver-masked creatures were sitting cross-legged on my couch, looking down at me nonchalantly.

  
I scrambled sideways, my guitar falling with a muted thump, backing myself up against the opposite wall, panting.

  
"See? Now you've frightened her." The one in the suit said, scowling up at his companions.

  
"Who in the hell are you?" I shrieked.

  
"Ooh. Interesting turn of phrase, little one." He purred, smirking.

  
From the couch, one of the other men started gesticulating wildly. It took me a moment to realize that he was signing. The one on the floor rolled mismatched eyes.

  
"Yes, yes. 'Be not afraid!' Isn't that the line?"

  
His companion was still signing emphatically.

  
"Alright, alright. What I mean is, don't be afraid. We aren't going to hurt you. We only came to listen. You shouldn't have even noticed us."

  
"Who are you?" I repeated breathlessly.

  
He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

  
"They mostly call me Papa, which is good enough for the moment."

  
His accent was strange; Italian, maybe, but stilted and a little off around the edges. Not only that, but he sounded like he was in the wrong decade-- his consonants were clipped and jaunty like a radio announcer from the start of the last century.

  
"What are you doing here?" I demanded.

  
He put his head on one side just like his companion had done the morning he killed the burglar.

  
"We came to hear your lovely music. I've already said, yes?" His attention flickered away from me and back up to his signing friend.

  
"Ah. I see. Bigger picture. Of course." He cleared his throat dramatically and adjusted his pristine white gloves. His voice-- young, clear, and good natured-- was totally at odds with his frightening appearance.

  
I had just accepted that I actually was crazy. It was the sort of crazy that people went in the movies, though, the funny, zany kind. Woody Allen instead of Sylvia Plath.

  
"We are denizens of a distant, unseen realm. My companion--" He gestured. "--was drawn to you and thus was present when you were menaced. Evidently, he was so disturbed that his concentration was broken, and he allowed himself to become visible and corporeal for a moment."

  
He aimed a meaningful scowl at one of his companions on the couch. The shoulders of the larger of the two hunched up in what looked like embarrassment. Then he turned back to me, the same look on his face.

  
"And you're welcome, by the way." He said, his voice low and dripping sarcasm. Catching my eyes with intent, though a casual move on his part, was enough to take my breath. His gaze was mesmerizing. It was intense and intelligent, and it pinned me to the spot.

  
I had become totally insane, I reminded myself. The knowledge was strangely freeing, and relief washed over me. If this was all in my mind, I was in no danger at all. I reasoned that I would ride out what had to be a psychotic episode. Like riding out a bad trip.

  
"Your...friend...was drawn to me?" I asked, finally looking away from Papa and back up at the two on the couch.

  
"Indeed. The Ghouls are very musical creatures by nature. The big guy here--let's call him Alpha-- apparently finds your playing very pleasant. Finds you very pleasant, I think it's safe to say."

  
He paused to look me up and down. I was wearing nothing but a battered old tank top and boxer shorts, so he had a lot to take in.

  
"And I tend to agree." He purred, dragging his attention back up to my face.

  
My own hallucination was trying to seduce me. And judging from my body's reaction it was working. I pinched the bridge of my nose, wondering if I was secretly conceited or just an undersexed lunatic.

  
"Oh for fuckssakes." I sighed, letting my head fall back against the wall. "Alright, gentlemen. Shall I play some music, then?"

  
The smallest Ghoul picked my guitar up from the ground, walked over, and set it carefully in my lap. Papa's mismatched eyes glittered from behind the mask.

  
"By all means." He murmured, putting his hands around one knee and lacing his fingers.


	2. Emeritus

Looking back, I've realized that it was probably for the best that I thought I was losing it. The enormity of the truth I had just barely had a glance of would have probably driven me crazy for real.

  
I also understand now the dangers of the situation I'd found myself in. These were ancient beings born out of the chaos that proceeded existence, spirits anchored tenuously in the bodies of men. I had quite literally no idea who I was dealing with. The Ghouls seemed to be mute, unable to tell me anything. And Papa hadn't exactly been forthcoming.

  
I would come to find out later that he wasn't really in the habit of hanging out with denizens of my world, though he had often been an interested onlooker. A voyeur, even. His inherent otherness is more understandable when put into its proper context. At the time I just assumed that my hard-on for Rudolph Valentino had taken a wrong turn deep in my subconscious and ended up somewhere...weird.

  
He didn't appear again, but his Ghouls were pretty frequent visitors. Whenever I picked up my guitar or the keyboard, they would start slowly trickling in. They were polite about it, at least, winking into existence at moments when it wouldn't cause me to piss myself. I would set down my instrument to get a drink and when I returned, there'd be three Ghouls on the couch instead of two, that sort of thing. It took a while to begin to differentiate between them, but eventually I concluded that there were five total.

  
I actually enjoyed hanging around with them. Once in while I'd talk to them. They were my imaginary friends, so talking to them was basically the same as talking to myself. And talking to oneself is a perennial favorite of crazy people everywhere.

  
And they were funny, bobbing their heads to the music, sometimes tinkering on my spare instruments. I walked into my bathroom one night to discover one repeatedly flushing my toilet and watching in amazement as it refilled. Later I discovered that somebody had carefully rearranged my ragtag vinyl collection into perfect chronological order. And drawn tiny perfect sigils all around my door and windows. With my very expensive liquid eyeliner, then my favorite lipstick when the eyeliner ran out.

  
In other words, I got comfortable with them. During the day I hustled for a job, putting in applications everywhere that didn't seem overly shady and was within walking distance. At night I hung out with my new buddies. They listened to my complaining and watched as I drank myself stupid.

  
Then one morning I entered my living room to discover a huge pile of crumbled money in the center of the floor. I nearly fell over. I stalked past it and into the kitchen, staring at my coffee machine as it brewed.

  
I returned to the living room, steaming cup in hand, and sure enough, the money was still there. I sat down on the floor and started digging through it, shaking. It was almost entirely small bills, many, like I said, all crumbled up into wads.

  
All told, my new friends had brought me about two grand in actual money, nine arcade tokens, four Monopoly dollars, some loose change...and a bunch of paper clips. That had to be my little toilet-flusher's contribution.

  
I sat dumbstruck for a minute or two, then threw real pants on and walked to my landlord's pizza shop to pay my goddamn rent. He didn't ask why I was paying with a huge wad of ones and fives and I didn't tell him. When I got home, I dug through the boxes that still housed my book collection until I found my copy of Paradise Lost, an enormous tome called Witchcraft and Demonology, assorted paperbacks from the occult store, a theology textbook I bought second hand, and a Gideon bible I'd stolen out of the motel room's bedside table.  
Then I settled in for a long night.

 

* * *

  
At around midnight, Papa strode grandly out of the darkness of the kitchen, scaring the fuck out of me. He lives to do shit like that.

  
"Augh! Fucksakes!" I exclaimed, nearly upending the whole coffee table. (Though I'm happy to say that I did _not_ piss myself.)

  
"Nice to see you, too." Papa said, smiling smugly and adjusting his cuff-links.

  
My brain, taken over by instinct and adrenaline, made the rest of me stand up. And checked to make sure I was wearing clothes.

  
I exhaled forcefully, putting one shaky palm against my temple.

  
"Papa!" I said at last, surveying my huge pile of books, feeling like I'd been caught snooping. He was looking down at my research material as well.

  
"Doing some light reading?" He asked mildly.

  
"Ah. Yes." I stammered, aware now that I was in the presence of an impossible creature in human form. Papa clasped his hands behind him and rocked on his heels. The air felt charged in a way it didn't when the Ghouls were around. Like a lightning storm was coming, and I was directly in its path.

  
Papa, still only an arm's length away, bent to pick up my notebook. He scanned it quickly with his eyes. I waited silently, trying to not look as tense as I felt.

  
"Hmm. Looks like you've...how you say...hit the nail on the head? Yes."

  
He dropped the notebook with a clatter and took a step forward. I consciously willed myself to stand in place, though every inclination was to back up. Instinctively, I knew it was a mistake to show discomfort or fear. I looked at him coolly, surveying him.

  
He was only about my height, and not much broader of shoulder. I was again shocked by how "real" he looked-- not transparent or shimmery or any such thing. Just a man-- albeit a man in archaic formalwear and a death's head mask-- present, corporeal, and totally nonchalant.

  
He put his head on one side, a gesture I was getting used to.

  
"Why are you afraid?" He asked innocently.

  
So much for not showing fear.

  
"I...ah...well. Your reputation proceeds you, I guess." I finished lamely.

  
Papa snorted, waving dismissively.

  
"Nonsense. Sit down, please." He said, gesturing at my couch. It didn't occur to me until later that he was inviting me to sit down in my own living room on my own furniture. I sat.  
He took the opposite armchair, crossing his legs and lacing his fingers in his lap.

  
"I understand my Ghouls gave you a little token of appreciation." He said casually.

  
"Yes. Please thank them for me."

  
"Of course." He said, nodding graciously. "They're quite taken with you. I don't think one of your kind has ever treated them with kindness. I hope you...appreciate your influence over them. And use it judiciously."

  
"Yes, sir." I responded automatically. Like one does when the highway patrol cop asks if you'll be staying under the speed limit in the future. His rather intense gaze broke, and I relaxed slightly.

  
"Mmn. Good. Now I imagine you've got questions, yes?"

  
I was exploding with questions, but had no idea how to present them. "Excuse me, sir, but would you happen to be an agent of Satan?" Was the big one, but I also thought it seemed impolitic. Or at least a bit...forward.

  
I laughed weakly, leaning back into the couch. Papa regarded me coolly with his strange eyes. The mask, though articulate, still smoothed over any expression he might have worn, flattened his affect a little. It made him impossible to read.

  
"You're...not a symptom of my various mental defects, are you?"

  
Papa looked at me skeptically.

  
"You're not insane. You're bright, thoughtful, and sensitive. People like you never do well in this world. But you are very much not delusional."

  
I was taken aback.

  
"Good. And thank you. Though I'm not sure how you could possibly know any of that."

  
He arched an eyebrow at me.

  
"We'll get back to that. It's my turn to ask a question. A question for a question, yes?"

  
"I didn't agree to that!"

  
He put an elbows on the arms of the chair and spread his hands, palms up.

  
"It's a _social_ contract! Taking turns, _shaaaring_." He shrugged. "It's just good manners."

  
I couldn't tell from his mask that he was smiling, but it was edging into his voice. He was toying with me. I didn't yet know exactly what that meant.

  
"Alright, ask." I said with more bravado than I felt.

  
"Relax, my dear. I didn't come here to interrogate you. I'm simply curious, much like yourself." He said, steepling his fingers under his chin.

  
"I'm perfectly relaxed. Ask your question." I said flatly.

  
"Why is a lovely and charming young lady such as yourself all alone here?" He asked thoughtfully. I didn't need to think about a response, as I was used to telling the story.

  
"It's pretty simple. My parents died young, my extended family doesn't approve of my lack of faith, and my last relationship didn't end amicably. I moved here, since I had nothing anchoring me to the east coast anymore and I wanted to get away from the winters."

  
Papa regarded me casually, but his gaze still seemed to cut right into me. His eyes, though strange, were quite expressive; I sensed that he knew I was withholding some important details, but wasn't going to push it.

  
"Mmn, my sympathies."

  
"Thank you. Now, who are you?"

  
"Just another humble servant of the Morning Star." He said good-naturedly. 

"You don't seem that humble."

  
Papa laughed behind his hand. He had a surprisingly nice laugh, a sort of genteel male giggle. I smiled despite myself.

  
"Point taken. I am a self aggrandizing compatriot of the Morning Star. Let me also say how refreshing it is to talk to a woman who takes a jab at _me_ rather than go into histrionics about _Him_."

  
"Oh, I'm getting around to that, don't worry."

* * *

  
  
At some point in the evening Papa walked into the darkness of the kitchen and emerged moments later with a bottle of decent merlot and two wine glasses. I wanted to ask how he'd managed it, but suspected that would count that as a question.

  
I tackled the hard stuff first: heaven, hell, Lucifer's uprising, then his defeat and subsequent fall. He was a little dicey on the existential questions, with his defense being that he either didn't know or couldn't adequately explain. Considering the complexity of the topics in question, I didn't hold it too much against him.

  
Papa came at me from a less biographical angle. He wanted to know my thoughts on a number of things: theological issues, culture, personal philosophy.

  
To say that it was a mind-expanding conversation would be an understatement. I didn't understand a lot of it, but with so much ground to cover it was going to have to do.

  
Though I'd come from a conservative religious background, I'd cast off the chains early. I then went on a reading spree that took me all the way through high school. There was something really freeing about studying Christian mythology from the standpoint of a nonbeliever. Later, during my abortive attempt at college, I'd racked up a few theology credits. Papa was alternately delighted and perplexed by my knowledge. And he seemed as happy to tell me the other side of the story as I was to hear it.

  
Eventually, we strayed from the question and answer format and fell into an animated conversation. The wine seemed to have loosened his tongue a little, which surprised me. I hadn't expected that a rebel angel from the pit would be a total lightweight.

  
"Excuse _me_ , little one. We have many wonders in my realm, but fortified wine isn't one of them." He said dryly. In response to an observation I hadn't actually given voice to.

  
I gaped.

  
"Are you reading my mind?"

  
He waffled.

  
"Eh, not in a conventional sense. Which brings this conversation full circle, no? You asked me how I knew the content of your character? Before you plied me with alcohol?"

  
I didn't bring up the fact that it was _him_ who brought booze to the party.

  
"I remember."

  
"First, you should know who and what my companions are."

  
"The boys?"

  
He snorted, and I was almost sure he was smiling under the mask.

  
"The boys? Hah. 'Boys and Ghouls'. Well. The boys are not as I am. They are much younger, only coming along much later in the story, long after the fall."

  
"Are they actually your children?"

  
Papa made a small, strangled laugh, almost choking on his drink.

  
"Sweet Satan, no! Hah! You are picturing me as the mama duck with her five little ducklings trailing along behind? No, no. They follow me out of loyalty, and I do feel protective of them. But I am not their 'Papa' in the way you're thinking. It's more like how the Church is led by a 'Father'. Except I'm more fun to be around. And I'm allowed to have sex. Those two things, erm, going together."

  
"Fascinating."

  
"I just wanted you to know. Ah, in case."

  
"I'll bear it in mind." I said neutrally, feeling a blush starting.

  
"Now, where was I? Ah yes. The Ghouls are mine to command, and I can share their thoughts. Which, when the war isn't actively menacing us, is more of a curse than a blessing. I mostly block it out, for the sake of my own sanity. However, I noticed new thoughts coming to the surface recently. Nothing too specific, mind, little bursts of emotion, images, melodies sometimes. I asked the Ghouls about it, though in truth I already had a good idea of what had happened."

  
My mouth had gone dry. I didn't know what he was going to say, but I knew that I wasn't going to like it.

  
"Have you wondered why, during our acquaintance, I have never asked your name? Or volunteered my own?"

  
I stared at him like a bunny looks into the headlights of an oncoming semi, unable to formulate a response. He paused for a moment, then forged onward.

  
"Where we come from, names have _power_. That is why we discarded our angelic names when we fell: to sever our link with the legions of heaven. All of us except Morning Star himself, of course, a reminder of what we lost, and hoped to regain. And even he certainly has his pseudonyms. But I digress. My point is that in telling my Ghouls your true name, you've, ah...hmm. How to put it? You've forged a sort of mental link. The archangelo exploited the Ghouls' ability to do this during the first years of the war. They could be our scouts, our spies, and we could feel their thoughts across the distance. Control them, even. You've not given me your true name, but through my Ghouls I still get the odd...impression."

  
My stomach dropped. As pleasant as they'd all been so far, I was very unhappy to have opened my mind up to anyone, let alone Satan's fucking minions. My ability to fall in with bad crowds everywhere I went had reached a new zenith.

  
"For fucksakes. They know, and they're gonna tell you. What happens then? One big ole psychic...Satanic...circle-jerk for all eternity?"

  
Papa's mismatched eyes widened, then he blinked a few times.

  
"That was the crudest thing I've heard all day. I like you more and more all the time. But, ah, no. No...jerking in a circle. At least I don't think so." He seemed to think it over for a moment, then frowned.

  
"No. Sounds messy. And I can't just find out your name. Or I would have just looked on your mail, and you would, of course, already be naked."

  
"So you're Satan's old war buddy, and a fallen archangel, the boys are your little demonic spies, I've accidentally given them power over me, and if I give it to you you'll make me take my clothes off. Am I forgetting anything?"

  
"No, that's a good summary of the situation." Papa said good-naturedly.

I sat back on the couch, putting my hands over my face, angry tears welling up. I hadn't succumbed to self-pity since I'd moved to the west coast. But the last weeks had put me through the wringer. I'd been ping-ponging between terror, confusion, exhilaration, and yet more terror, too rapidly, and for too long. Also, I was tipsy.

  
I burst into sobs. I was mortified at myself, which didn't help in the slightest. I'd moved across the country to extricate myself from a shitty situation, only land in one far, far, far worse.  And a helluva lot weirder.

  
I felt the couch dip beside me, then the warmth of Papa's body. He put an arm around my shoulders. I froze up, hands still over my face.

  
I had no idea what to do about this. An eccentric preternatural creature in the guise of a man was stroking my back in little circular motions. And I couldn't help but notice how warm he was, right through his clothing and mine. And that he smelled really, really good. Like cedar and tobacco and incense.

  
After a few moments without dire mystical consequences or inappropriate grabbiness, I started to relax, and thus was wracked with more sobs. He pulled me in close and I let him, for the moment not caring who was comforting me. No one had been kind to me for so long. In fact, it had been weeks since anyone had touched me, even incidentally.

  
I calmed down quickly, hiccuping and embarrassed beyond all reason. Papa pressed a white silk handkerchief into my hand.

  
"There now, that's better. No need for that. You'll give the Ghouls a complex. You'll give _me_ a complex."

  
"Sorry." I mumbled through both hands and a handkerchief.

  
"Ah, it's alright. I forgive you." He said expansively, stroking my back again. When his hand wandered off my shoulders and found its way to my waist.

  
"...You can stop touching me now." I said dryly.

  
Papa threw his head back and laughed, giving me a final squeeze and sitting back on the couch.

  
"I... don't enjoy being so vulnerable. Giving strangers power over myself." I said, trying to hide my red, puffy face. I'd covered his handkerchief in eyeliner and snot.

  
He stood, sighing. I immediately missed the warmth of his body.

  
"I'll tell you something that might make you feel better. A little collateral. But you have to look at me."

  
I looked up, blinking.

  
Papa leaned down, almost into a bow, and he hooked a bent finger under my chin. His face was very close to mine. I could see the edges of his mask under his eyes. One green-grey, one pearl white, fringed in dark lashes.

  
"My name...is Emeritus." He purred. He released my chin, touched me playfully on the tip of my nose, then turned on his heel, striding off into the shadows of the room beyond.

  
"Sleep now, little one. We'll speak again later." He said, then all was silent.

 


	3. Morningstar's Revolt

And we did speak again later. Three months later.

  
I think it was Alistair Crowley who said (and I'm paraphrasing) that people mostly see what they expect to see. Most don't perceive the supernatural happenings around them, and even if they do, the mind has a way of smoothing over such things. It finds more mundane explanations, fills in the gaps, keeps its equilibrium.

  
I'd had a more substantial than average introduction to the unseen world, and even I started to slowly forget. I made excuses for myself. I was depressed at the time, drinking too much, stressed out beyond belief, and some asshole had broken into my apartment and tried to kill me. I spent the money the Ghouls gave me, of course, so all I was really left with by way of evidence was two wine glasses and a pile of paperclips. Neither of which was particularly compelling evidence that I'd been visited by powerful beings from another realm.

  
But in those three months I slowly got myself back together. I got a bartending gig at a very cool club. I made friends with some coworkers. I'd even started playing with a band again.  
In other words, life got better. I didn't totally forget Emeritus and the boys-- they showed up in my dreams fairly often-- but I had nearly convinced myself that I had only imagined them.

  
Then, one sweltering night in July, dragging myself back from a bone-crushing Saturday shift, I clicked on the lights and all five Ghouls were in my living room.

  
I shrieked, dropping my keys and purse. With preternatural speed, one of them slid past me and shut the door, then pulled me over toward the group by the hand. One of the taller ones was on his feet, signing furiously. The others were anxious, I could see it in their posture. They'd also abandoned their sleek suits and silver masks for black, floor-length, hooded robes and matte black masks. They'd been a bit intimidating even in formal wear, but now they were scary as shit. With their hoods up, in all-encompassing robes, they looked like wraiths, shadows.

  
Half stunned, I just stared at the Ghoul as he gesticulated emphatically, before finally recovering my wits enough to shake my head.

  
"I can't...I don't understand! I don't understand you!" I said finally, watching as he became more and more frustrated. The Ghoul who'd pulled me over started signing back, over my shoulder.

  
The tall one abandoned his efforts and started casting his eyes around the room. I got the drift, and retrieved my sketchbook and a charcoal pencil from the bedroom, which I shoved forcibly into his hands.

  
He dropped to his knees, putting the book on my coffee table, and started drawing. He drew a pair of eyes, then colored in only the right one.

  
"Papa?" I said. He pointed at me emphatically, then kept drawing.

  
Next he made a complex sigil, looking up at me hopefully.

  
"I don't know what that is, I'm sorry!"

  
He tore the page out and started again.

  
Two of his companions stood up, rushing into the kitchen, where I heard them crashing around in my cupboards.

  
He drew the mismatched eyes again, then pointed at me. Returning from the kitchen, the two smaller Ghouls charged past me. One of them kicked the coffee table out of the way, right out from under his friend, clearing a space on the floor. Then he produced a box of sea salt from my cupboards, and started pouring it out on the carpet. When I saw that he was making a huge circle, I finally understood. One of them took me by the shoulders and pulled me out of the way.

  
"Right, right! Ah, come here this instant, Emeritus!" I said, feeling both panicked and ridiculous. "I...ah, summon you!"

  
I'm not sure how to explain what happened next, but it involved a flash of blinding light, and being thrown backward with enough force to take a Ghoul down with me.

  
When I opened my eyes again, the room was filled with acrid smoke, which I realized was coming from my burning carpet. It had been charred black within the border of the salt circle, a few low flames sputtering at the edges. And there, in the center, was a crouching man-shaped figure.

  
He too was in yards of black robes, his head concealed by a voluminous hood. He looked up, clearly startled, then his eyes snapped over to me. He put a gloved hand up and pulled his hood down.

  
"Papa!" I cried, both happy to see him and relieved that I hadn't summoned forth some other, less personable demonic creature. The Ghoul nearest to him was patting out the flaming carpet, and my apartment was now full of the worst smelling smoke of all time.  
Emeritus, still crouched low to the ground, let out a deep breath. The Ghoul behind him reached out and brushed a stray, smoldering carpet fiber off his shoulder. He didn't notice.

  
 _"Bellum omnia...contra omnes!"_ He panted. As always, the mask obscured his expression, but he sounded...exhilarated. Gracelessly, he sat, then laid, on the floor, stretching out alongside the sitting Ghoul. I watched his chest rise and fall for a moment, then reached behind me and grabbed a throw pillow from the couch. I passed it to the nearest Ghoul. He nonchalantly lifted Emeritus' head and stuffed it under him.

  
"Thank you." He murmured.

  
"You're welcome." I said, in tremendous fucking suspense. "Are you alright?"

  
He groaned in response.

  
"Wonderful." I said, feeling one eyelid begin to twitch. His robes were torn, singed, and smelled overwhelmingly of sulfur. Between that and the flaming carpet, my apartment had taken malodorousness to new heights. I'd left the windows open, at least, so we weren't all going to die from the fumes. On the downside, everyone on the street below probably thought I had a meth lab going.

  
Gradually the air cleared, and Papa struggled back up to a seated position, legs stretched out in front of him, hands braced on the floor.

  
He turned, and finally noticed the six pairs of eyes boring into him, and their six breathless owners.

  
"Well, it turns out..." He started. My heart was pounding like a drum. Suspense was palpable in the air.

  
"...that being abruptly yanked out of a higher realm and dropped into this one does _terrible_ things to my stomach. Eeh. Awful."

  
No one made a sound, but one of the Ghouls sat back heavily against the couch, hand over the eye-holes of his mask.

  
Papa threw his hands up.

  
"But you're waiting for news, yes? And very good news it is, my friends!" He declared gleefully. "The end times are upon us!"

* * *

 

In his typically circuitous way, Emeritus eventually elaborated.

  
The war between heaven and hell had been raging, on and off, for millennia. After a long stalemate, Morning Star pulled his forces out of active battle in favor of a subtler approach. He reasoned that humanity, the metaphorical favorite child, would eventually throw off the yoke of Christianity...with a little encouragement.

  
This had been working brilliantly. Humanity was getting the hang of critical thinking, gaining independence, learning. Pandora's box had been opened, and heaven's legions just couldn't manage to force it closed again. Sick of trying, they had instead elected to pull the plug.

  
The archangelo convened for the first time in centuries. ("Ugh! You should have seen it! So many inflated egos in one place!" Emeritus had said without a trace of irony or self-awareness.)

  
The war had begun out of bitterness toward mankind, but now, untold centuries later, the fallen angels had actually grown fond of humanity. Even Morning Star himself had begun to feel proprietary toward man. Humans were complicated creatures, independent, spirited, overly emotional, prone to rebellion and squabbling and troublemaking. In other words, they were just like Morning Star and his colleagues had been so long ago.

  
After reaching a tenuous consensus, the archangelo went their separate ways and joined the world of men, unseen. Except for Morning Star, who, in typical fashion, had rashly gone off to confront heaven head on. And had not been heard from for some time.

  
This was apparently how Emeritus had gotten himself into trouble. He traversed the gulf between hell and heaven, gaining entry with his customary mix of stealth, intelligence, and sheer assholery. ("I just put suspicion in the sentry's head." Emeritus said defensively. "I didn't force him to attack his compatriot. For all I know he really _is_ screwing the man's sister.")

  
But Morning Star was nowhere to be found. At least not before Papa was captured and dragged away by very pissed-off angelic soldiers. He didn't elaborate on what they'd been planning to do to him, but judging from the reaction of his Ghouls it wasn't going to be pleasant. The boys, left behind in hell, could feel what was happening, but had no power to extract their leader. So they came to me. I knew Emeritus' true name, and unlike them, I wasn't his subordinate. I could summon him no matter where he was, regardless of his feelings on the matter.

  
Which were, on this occasion at least, very positive.

  
"I thought I was doing you a favor when I gave you my name. Shows what I know, eh?" He said dryly, finishing his slightly rambling tale.

  
"...Should I be panicking right now?" I finally said, even though I was definitely already panicking.

  
Emeritus and all five Ghouls looked at me with their heads tilted quizzically. It would have been funny, under different circumstances.

  
"Hmm? Why?" Emeritus asked lightly.

  
"THE FUCKING APOCALYPSE." I shrieked.

  
Six sets of eyes blinked at me.

  
" _Carissima_ , no." Emeritus said gently, chuckling. He reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering for the barest instant on my jaw. "Hell has taken up the cause of men. The archangelo and their legions won't let your world be destroyed. And you, lucky girl, have one of those archangelo hopelessly in your debt."

  
Behind him, one of the Ghouls started signing angrily from the arm of the couch. Papa looked over his shoulder then turned back, rolling his eyes.

  
"Yes, yes, and the Ghouls. You also have this motley crew at your beck and call." He gestured over his shoulder with a thumb. "Whether you like it or not, from the sound of it."

  
But the Ghoul wasn't done signing. He gestured around at the five of them, then finally nodded. The other four masked heads bobbed, one by one. Papa seemed taken aback.

  
"Hmm. Truly?" He asked. They nodded again. He turned back to her.

  
"It seems my Ghouls would like for you to have their names as well. Because they are generous souls, and also because they love showing me up."

  
I gaped silently, abruptly fighting back tears. Very quickly, these strange creatures had become very important to me, and evidently the feeling was mutual. If shit was about to hit the proverbial fan, there was no one else I would rather have on my side.

  
"So. In no particular order, allow me to present...Aether, the one who is always yelling at me with his hands..."

  
The ghoul--tallish, stockier than the others-- hopped off the arm of the couch and gave me a sweeping bow.

  
"...Fire, whom you may remember from when he killed the man in your bedroom, yes?"  
Fire stood, rising to his equally impressive height. He gave me a deferential nod.

  
"Water, who covered your door and window frames with more warding sigils than our _dis pater_ has in his whole palace."

  
Water, sturdy and compact, clasped his hands and gave me a polite nod.

  
"And these two are Air and Earth, the best scouts in all of Heaven and Hell. They were the two responsible for your, ah, sudden windfall a few weeks ago."

  
The smallest Ghoul, Earth, waved somewhat awkwardly, Air just froze up like a deer in headlights, shoulders hunching up. Earth elbowed him in the ribs. He finally nodded sheepishly.

  
Unexpectedly moved, I cleared my throat, trying to steady my voice.

  
"Thank you, gentlemen." I said when I could trust myself to do so without tears.

  
Aether gave me a thumbs up, sending me into a fit of slightly misty laughter. It broke the solemn atmosphere a little, to my relief.

  
I looked over at Emeritus. His face was a mystery as always, but his body certainly looked tired. Under the black robes his shoulders were stooped, his usually impeccable posture faltering a little. Behind the mask, his mismatched eyes were slightly bloodshot. He looked... vulnerable, human. It surprised me. The archangelo were apparently powerful, nearly immortal, and certainly inhuman, but they weren't invincible. I felt a wave of concern roll over me. In the rush, I'd almost forgotten how much he'd been through in the last few days.

  
"Go home, my Ghouls. I'll be along presently." He said, fatigue edging into his voice.

  
One by one they stood, dusting themselves off. A few of them waved before their outlines shimmered and they faded away.

  
Papa sighed again, still sitting on my ruined floor.

  
"Feeling better, little one?" He asked quietly.

  
"Me? I'm the last thing you should worry about!"

  
"Mmn. Well, it's my job to worry, about a great many things. And whether you like it or not, _carissima_...you've been added to the list."

  
I felt myself smiling at him, and even more worrying, the blood was rising to my face. Emeritus' eyes crinkled at the corners, fluttering over me. Then he looked down, sighing again. He stripped off his gloves. His hands, I noted, were like those of an ordinary man. It was beginning to dawn on me that these figures--angels, demons, Ghouls-- were not mystical forces of nature. They were people. Strange, powerful people, but people nonetheless. It made the war seem more immediate, the stakes higher.

  
"You've been drawn into our little rebellion. You've just helped one of Lucifer's archangelo escape from the legions of Heaven. That's not something it's possible to walk away from. The sensible part of me regrets this, but in truth I've never been very sensible."

  
I cleared my throat, taken aback by his quiet directness. Maybe he was too tired for his usual jokes and bombast. My hands tingled. I wanted to touch him, but...

  
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry." He murmured.

  
"Shut up." I said, tenuously reaching out to touch his hand. When I did, he laced his gloved fingers with mine, squeezing gently. He looked down at our hands, then brought them up to brush a kiss across my knuckles. He chuckled.

  
My pulse was pounding in my ears. As completely insane as it was, I wanted nothing more than to drag him into my bed and demonstrate just how not-sorry he should have been.

  
"Emeritus."

  
"Hmm?"

  
"I want to see your face."

  
He looked down again.

  
"Alas, little one... this I cannot do. Not in your realm. Though...hmm...perhaps there is another way."

  
He shifted himself, our hands still clasped, and stood, pulling me up with him. His discordant eyes seemed to be searching for something in my face. It was impossible to know if he was smiling, but I think he was.

  
Emeritus stepped backwards, sliding through the heavy tapestry that divided my living and sleeping quarters.

  
My room was pitch black, shielded even from the ambient glow of the streetlights outside by dark curtains. I could see absolutely nothing. Only Emeritus' hands on mine anchored me. He led me across the small room until I felt the edge of my futon mattress against my leg.

  
"Sit, _carissima_ , this will take some doing."

  
I sank down to sit on my bed, heart pounding, my face feeling hot. He released my hand and stepped away. I had no idea what to expect, but I also trusted him. And wanted him. It was crazy, but I did. Warmth bloomed in my chest and between my legs, the quality of my breathing changed. I heard a sharp inhalation from him, and that warmth turned almost painful. He _knew_. Of course he knew.

  
I shivered, feeling the faintest touch of magick for a moment only.

  
The mattress dipped slightly as he sat across from me, and I felt him take my hands. He had removed his gloves, I covering them with his warmer ones, palms out. He brought them slowly up, until I found his face.

  
I traced my fingers over the lines of his face wonderingly, running my thumbs along the orbital bones under his eyes. I felt his eyelashes flutter as his eyes closed, then the warmth of his breath as he sighed. I traced his hairline, down his temples, along his jaw, and at last, over his lips.

  
He took my hand again, pressing it to his mouth, kissing my palm. His lips felt warm and soft, and the urge to taste them was too strong to overcome. I leaned in, catching his mouth with my own. He made a soft sound deep in his throat, perfectly still, and let me explore him.

  
I deepened the kiss, exhilaration making phantom lights explode behind my eyes. Tentatively, I touched his tongue with my own, and was rewarded with another soft, wordless rumble. He tasted like smoke and the tea I'd made him drink, warm and alive.

  
Finally I withdrew, breathless and shivering, my thumb still tracing his full lower lip.

  
"My goodness, little one." He murmured, his voice low and quiet. "Your curiosity is very thorough."

  
I smiled into the darkness.

  
"Do you mind?"

  
"Not at all." He said, then leaned into me, resting his forehead against mine, one hand burying itself in my hair. He kissed me again delicately, sighing, then pulled me in closer, seeking entry into my mouth, which I granted more than happily. I sidled in toward him until our knees touched, then closer than that, putting one leg around him and shifting into his lap. I wrapped myself around him, legs around his waist, hands on his face. He shuddered, breaking the kiss only long enough to find my throat with his mouth.

  
The fabric of his robes felt rough on my bare arms, but his mouth was so soft, trailing up my throat to my jaw, nipping playfully. My hands were searching for a way under his clothes to no avail. He seemed to wearing about ten yards of impenetrable black wool. I ran my hands down over his ribs, just barely able to detect the lines of his form underneath.

  
A sharp breath and a little shudder made me stop, pull back.

  
"Oh! I'm sorry!" I said, jolted back to reality. I'd managed to forget that the man had just been through the proverbial wringer. Had just, in fact, briefly been a prisoner of war to the people who'd come up with the Spanish Inquisition and the _Malleus Mallificarum._

"You're hurt! Fuck, I'm such an id--"

  
He cut me off.

  
"You're no such thing." He said firmly, then sighed, leaning forward to brush our faces together. I was still frozen in horror. The man was hurt, exhausted, and far from home. This was not an appropriate time to try to jump his bones.

  
"Still, I must admit that I'm not at, ah, the peak of my form." He said, but resumed his exploration of my throat, albeit carefully. "Allow me to give you what I can, sweet one." He murmured into my neck, setting my nerves alight again.

  
I nodded, my breath coming through parted lips.

  
Emeritus put a palm on my chest, pushing me gently off of him and down into the bed. I closed my eyes, trying to center myself, shivering with nerves and anticipation. He carefully shifted himself, coming to rest alongside me on his uninjured side. He pulled me in close again, my breasts pressing into the wall of his chest, his mouth on mine, his hand on my face. Instinctively, my leg moved to top his, but I stopped myself. He caught my knee with his hand and settled it over his hip wordlessly. His hand pressed into my thigh, sliding up to grip my backside, then around to my stomach, sliding under my t-shirt to lay flat on my stomach. When he started exploring the waistband of my jeans I whimpered aloud into his mouth. I could feel his grin against my lips.

  
"Take this off for me, _carissima_." He whispered.

  
I shifted, undoing my pants and wriggling out of them. He resettled my bare leg atop his, taking time to stroke my thigh and finally to cup my backside, covered now only by my panties. He groaned, nuzzling my face with his own, his breath hot and moist on my face. When his hand came around to the front of my waistline I had to bite down on a moan.

  
"Mmn, no. Let me hear you." He whispered raggedly, his fingers dipping down into the juncture of my legs.

  
I was almost embarrassed by how wet I was; his touch was immediately slick, fingers sinking deeply, running along the opening of my body.

  
I tensed up, almost too sensitive, already on the edge. I wanted to press my pelvis into him, touch him like he was touching me. My leg quivered on top of his, betraying my inner struggle.

  
He stroked me gently, chuckling almost silently.

  
"Relax, my sweet. They'll be plenty of time for that later, I promise you."

  
I let out a shuddering sigh, letting myself sag against him. I arched into his touch and he sank his fingers into me deeply, plundering my mouth with his own. He slid out of me, then back in again when I rocked my pelvis against his hand.

  
He murmured something in what could have been Latin, burying his face in my neck, letting me feel his teeth at the junction of my shoulder. He touched me with long, slow strokes, wringing sounds out of me that I was only distantly aware of.

  
Tightness was coiling in my belly, and I shivered, using all the mental reserves I had to keep still. He groaned against my throat, coming up to find my mouth again.

  
He let me quicken the pace a little, his touch more insistent, stopping now and again to plunge his fingers into me. I arched into him, almost crying, and came.

  
I must have cried out, and I certainly pressed myself against his body harder than I should have, pinning his hand between us. He let me ride it out, my arms around his neck, face pressed into his shoulder, his fingers still inside me.

  
Eventually I stilled, gasping for breath. It was the first orgasm I'd had (with someone else's assistance) in the better part of five months, and as such I was apparently on a hair trigger. Emeritus slowly pulled his fingers out of me, and reached up to taste them.

  
He rumbled an appreciative noise, then cupped my ass again, shifting to unbury my face from his shoulder. When he kissed me, I could taste myself on his lips.

  
I clung to him languidly in the dark, seeing stars. He nuzzled my face again, giggling quietly, but didn't speak. We lay together for a long while, until my heart rate slowed. I had almost fallen asleep when he carefully extricated himself. I heard the swishing of his robes as he stood.

  
"Emeritus." I whispered.

  
"Mmn?" Came his soft reply.

  
"I want to tell you _my_ name."

  
He laughed softly, kneeling down to kiss my temple. I could feel that his mask was back in place.

  
"Save it for next time, my sweet one." He murmured, brushing hair off my face with a gloved hand.

  
I made a sound of sleepy disappointment.

  
"I have no intention of making you wait too long. Until then, _carissima_." He said, trailing his fingertips over my lips.

  
Then, all was silent again.


	4. Aether

I was dreaming about the end of the world. Twelve years of catechism classes every Sunday had given me a pretty vivid picture of the apocalypse, at least the Catholic version. The seas boiled, the sun and moon were swallowed up by darkness. I saw the Earth laid bare, and endless expanse of nothingness stretching out before me. I felt a tremendous rumbling, like standing on the tracks when a train is coming. Then I saw it, a storm rising suddenly, snarls of lightning, wind whipping the sand past me with enough force to scour the flesh from my bones. I saw flashes of white and silver in the storm, darting figures, armored shadows in the shape of men. I knew somehow that they were Heaven's legions, warrior angels sent to break the Seventh and final Seal.

  
A crack of thunder startled me awake.

  
I sat up, sweaty and disoriented. My sheets were tangled around my bare legs. A summer storm was raging outside, I could hear rain pelting my bedroom window. I reached over and drew the curtain aside.

  
It seemed to be early morning, still, but the light coming in had an ominous yellow tinge to it that, at least on the East coast, generally meant it was time to hang out in the basement for a few hours.

  
In all the craziness of the night before, I had managed to fall asleep still wearing my contact lenses, not to mention a full face of make up. Grumbling, I stood. The sound of rain had gradually shifted to something more...solid. It was then I remembered that all my windows were still open in the living room.

  
I threw open the tapestry and was hit immediately by a wall of cool, damp air. Hail was bouncing off my window-screens. I scrambled around, closing the living room windows then the one in the kitchen. There was water pooling on my windowsills and half the couch was wet.

  
I padded off to the bathroom, trembling, the horror of the dream still dumping adrenaline into my system. I peeled the contacts out of my eyes and washed my face, put my glasses on. Feeling more human, I went back into the living room.

  
On my left, the salt circle was still mostly intact, which was more than could be said for my carpet. I was not getting my security deposit back. That would have upset me more if I didn't know that the world was quite possibly ending before my lease would even be up.

  
There was a flash, then immediately, thunder sounded again, making me yelp. The storm seemed to be right on top of us, and it was a quite a storm.

  
I wrapped a throw-blanket around myself, perching on the dry side of the couch, still in last night's work shirt and underwear. I smelled like cigarette smoke from the club, and burning plastic from the unlikely adventures that came after.

  
I shivered, eyes fixed on the blackened hole in my carpet and the scorch marks on the wall beyond. The apocalypse took a backseat, for a moment, to a pair of mismatched eyes, the timbre of a voice, words murmured in the dark.

  
"Ooh boy." I said aloud to nobody in particular, feeling yet another blush rising. I pushed hair out of my face then looked down at my hands. Had I really touched Emeritus' true face with these hands?

  
I closed my eyes, casting my mind back. His skin had been smooth, his cheekbones and nose prominent, lips full. Brows and eyelashes, barely perceptible beard stubble, straight, coarse hair. His face was more or less as I had imagined. He hadn't really explained the purpose of the mask, but asking to know what was under it had certainly led me to a pleasant time.

  
My lights flickered as wind buffeted the building, and from the sound of things the hail was back.

  
It occurred to me that this was possibly not an ordinary storm. Emeritus had said that hostilities between Heaven and Hell had reached critical mass. Morning Star was now fighting not only for an end to his exile, and also to protect mankind from the End of Days. I remembered a snippet of my dream: archangels riding the storm, lightning flashing around them.

  
I thought that the Ghouls and their 'Papa' would have probably warned me if the danger was imminent, but...well, they were also strange guys. Emeritus had declared that the world was ending with the glee of someone yelling 'Happy birthday!' at a surprise party.

  
I knew now that I could summon Emeritus or the Ghouls by using their true names, but that seemed like it should be reserved for definite emergencies. Emeritus and the Ghouls could also apparently communicate with each other telepathically. Did that mean I could, as well? Like calling someone on an interdimensional cellphone?

  
I snorted. What would long-distance charges be like when it came to calling other planes of existence?

  
I closed my eyes again, thinking back over the night before. It had only been a few hours, and if time moved there like it did here, Emeritus was still injured. I wasn't sure if he slept, but if he did, that was probably what he was up to currently.

  
Then I remembered the name of the first Ghoul, the one who signed.

  
I cleared my mind, letting out a deep breath.

  
" _Aether_." I thought as forcefully as I could. " _Can you hear me?"_

  
" _Aah! Yes, of course I can! You're shouting!"_ His words came across my mind clearly and unambiguously. I nearly fell off the couch.

  
" _Shit, I'm sorry._ " I pulled back the throttle on my concentration a little, letting the words drift past my awareness in a more natural way.

  
" _Much better. Hey, you figured it out! Humans are smarter than they get get credit for_!"  
I frowned.

  
" _Thanks...I think."_

  
" _No offense."_ He thought, then paused. " _What's going on over there? You're nervous."_

" _A huge fucking storm. I was just wondering if the world was ending, or...?"_

  
" _Nah. But there's archangelo all over your realm right now, waiting for the big moneyshot. I wouldn't be surprised if things got kinda weird over there."_

  
I considered, frowning. A bunch of primordial supernatural beings popping into existence on Earth all at once would probably lead to some weird side-effects.

  
" _Wait a second. Did you just say 'moneyshot'?"_

I felt, rather than heard, his laughter.

  
" _I'm a Ghoul who works for the Devil. Yes, I've heard of moneyshots."  
_

_"I just mean...you sound a lot more, uh, contemporary than Papa."_

_  
"Yeah, the archangelo don't get out much. And they're all really weird. Papa's one of the more relatable ones, if you can believe that."_

_  
"Yikes."_ I thought.

  
" _You're tellin' me."_

  
I considered. I wanted to ask about Emeritus, see if he was alright. But could I think about him without some...recent recollections bleeding through? Was it even possible to keep secrets from these guys?

  
" _He'll be alright, he's a tough old bastard. And yeah, we're gonna need to teach you how to put walls up around your thoughts. Whoo-eee."  
_

_"Hey!"_

  
" _I didn't do it on purpose! You think I wanna get to know Papa on that kinda basis?"_

 _  
"Oh for fucksakes."_ I thought, and probably also said aloud.

  
Aether laughed again while, on a completely different plane of existence, I put my face in my hands, embarrassed beyond belief.

  
" _But yeah, he's okay. He's sleeping it off, from what I can tell. You pulled him out just before Heaven's assholes had time to get really creative."_

  
I pulled the blanket tighter around myself, shuddering.

  
" _Speaking of which, thank you. We didn't want to pull you into this, but there wasn't much choice."_ He continued.

  
" _Eh, I've been playing for your team for quite awhile. Just not so literally_." I thought at him.

  
Aether chuckled.

  
" _Well, you're in the big leagues now, sister. But we're keeping our ears to the ground-- somebody will let you know if all Hell breaks loose. Or all Heaven. Hah."_

  
Alone in my apartment, I rolled my eyes.

  
" _So I can go back to bed now?_ " I thought.

  
Aether snickered.

  
" _You'd better! When Papa wakes up I think he's got plans for you!"_

  
I scowled, hoping I was successfully conveying the full breadth of my annoyance.

  
" _Fuck off, Aether. I liked you better mute."_ I thought, and apparently that was enough to sever our communication.

  
I went back to bed.


	5. The End is the Beginning is the End

I was up again before 11 o'clock. I was dead tired but my mind wouldn't cooperate with my body. My dreams were intense and disturbing but I only halfway remembered them; bloodshed, fighting, falling. I remembered feeling bitterness and abandonment, searing jealousy: a claustrophobic combination I was all too familiar with already.

I took a shower, put on real clothes and makeup, drank a coffee, and felt a little better. The club was closed Sundays through Tuesdays, so at least I had some time on my hands. I went to the library, returning with two armloads of books on the End Times. I told the woman who checked me out that I was writing a thesis for my theology Ph.D.

This didn't seem to reassure her that I wasn't a lunatic.

After studying the stuff for the next few hours, I was beginning to agree with her. I had compiled a list of predictions and their various interpretations. Then I went back to good ol' William Blake, who (along with John Milton) described the fall of Lucifer with the most accuracy, as per Emeritus.

I had a copy of his "Marriage of Heaven and Hell" on one side and the Cliff's Notes version on the other, jotting down the less...abstract verses. I paid particular attention to his "Diabolical Proverbs", Hell's somewhat sassy response to the original version.

Like this little ditty: "Choosing forms of worship from poetic tales, at length they pronounc'd that gods had order'd such things. Thus men forgot that all deities reside in the human breast." And: "The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portents of eternity too great for the eye of man."

In other words: "You're great and all, human, but this shit is beyond you."

" _Hey! Look alive!"_ Aether's voice popped into my head with no warning whatsoever.

" _Aah! Fucksakes! You scared the shit outta me!"_ I thought back, after I finished spluttering coffee all over myself and my library books.

" _Well, get used to it, sister. You've got archangels on your tail_."

" _What the hell does that mean?"_ I thought, my heart pounding, adrenaline flooding my body.

" _It means get your ass outta there!"_

Cursing, I scrambled for my boots.

" _Where am I going?_ " I thought, grabbing my bag and keys.

" _Just get outta there!"_ He was practically yelling. Or whatever the psychic equivalent to yelling is. " _Papa is on his way, he'll know what to do."_

I took the stairs two at a time, then ran through the dingy lobby and burst out of the double doors. It was dusk, hot and muggy. There was nobody on the street-- the humidity and the pre-Monday malaise, probably-- I looked around as inconspicuously as I could. Everything seemed normal enough.

" _Look casual, but hurry."_ Aether butted into my thoughts. " _Can you get on a subway or something?"_

" _Yeah. Gimme a minute. How am I supposed to find Papa?"_ I hustled up the block toward the closest subway station, hopefully in a casual sort of way.

" _He'll find you._ " Aether said.

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later I was in a subway car downtown, when a distinguished older fellow with huge aviator shades and a fedora sat down beside me. Bald, with a Romanesque profile and a little John Waters mustache, he reminded me of a mafia boss. His suit was perfectly tailored, and he wore black leather gloves despite the temperature. He retrieved the newspaper he had tucked under his arm, crossed his legs, and started doing the Sunday Times crossword puzzle with a fancy quill-tipped pen. I looked over suspiciously.

"My goodness, little one. You're very popular, as it turns out." He said, peering over the rims of his sunglasses at me.

I let out a breath.

"I _knew_ it was you!" I said, sagging into my chair and grinning in relief.

"Nonsense. I'm being inconspicuous." Emeritus said archly. I was so grateful to see him that I didn't even argue.

"Are you alright?" He continued in a light, conversational tone, still doing the crossword.

"I think so. Where are we going?" I asked, shivering with adrenaline. "Oh, just a little cabin in the woods." Papa replied. I looked over skeptically, wondering if he knew how worrying that statement was. Hadn't this guy ever seen the Evil Dead movies?

"All will be revealed." He said pleasantly, ticking a clue off the crossword puzzle.

* * *

 

We ended up doubling back, getting on a different train, then catching yet another train even further out into the burbs, then even further out than that. The temperature was dropping rapidly as the elevation increased and the evening became night. We caught a cab from the end of the line into a little one-stoplight town in the Cascades.

It was nearly ten o'clock by the time the taxi dropped us off at the end of a long driveway. Emeritus watched until the cabbie turned at the nearest intersection and sped off.

Then he turned to me and offered an arm.

"Shall we?" He said, and we started off into the dark.

It was a very good thing that I'd taken his arm, because the moment we stepped away from the lone streetlight I seemed to lose all sense of direction. And balance.

"Nothing to worry about, little one, just some wards. Diabolical security system, if you will."  He said, steadying me.   "Just keep walking."

I felt abruptly like I'd taken about four hits of acid and spun around in circles for awhile.

"Holy hell." I groaned, concentrating very hard on not falling down. Or throwing up.

"Indeed!" He replied happily. "Almost there."

Then, just as suddenly, the world righted itself. We were standing in front of a cabin, or rather, the sort of house rich people build in the ass-end of nowhere when they want to feel like they live in a cabin. It was big but not ostentatious, and typical of the northwestern exurbs in every way. In the wan glow of the single porch light, I could make out a wooden swing and some wicker furniture. A colorful wind chime tinkled. A tacky little country kitsch style Uncle Sam figure stuck crookedly out of the ground by the bottom of the porch stairs, celebrating July 4th all by his lonesome.

"Wow. Nailed it." I said, impressed.

"Oh? I thought it was a bit much. Luciferians seem to have an innate need to go completely overboard. Even when they're trying to blend in." He said skeptically, fussing with the knot of his tie. I didn't bring up the fact that Papa's idea of blending in was to dress like a Bond villain who'd wandered into a late-70's Italian porno flick.

"No, no, this is good." I said, nodding.

"Glad to hear it." He gestured grandly toward the place with his free arm.

"After you, little one. The door is unlocked."

I let go of his arm experimentally, and was pleased to find that reality had gone back to normal. With wards that powerful, there definitely was no reason to lock the door. I stepped up onto the porch, noting that no moths fluttered around the porch light, and no crickets chirped. It seemed nothing wanted to cross the invisible border surrounding the place.

I turned the knob, and the front door swung open with a soft creak. I stepped into the darkness, noting the scent of fresh pine and incense. Papa closed the door behind us, and clicked on the light. He hung his hat and sunglasses on a hook by the door, then started pulling off his gloves.

In a sort of foyer, I turned left through an open doorway and found myself in a gorgeous sitting room. Persian rugs covered hardwood floors, mismatched but lovely Victorian style couches and chairs, all in deep jewel-toned velvet were scattered about. There was a stone hearth, which contained not firewood but a silver plate, covered in the remnants of many candles and burnt incense.

Paintings covered the walls, reproductions of pieces from the romantic era, mostly. The Lady of Shallot, Ophelia, and Morgan Le Fay were a few figures I recognized. The place felt comfortable, serene, sensuous.

Emeritus slid past me, his heels clicking softly on the wood floor. He circled around the room, hands behind his back, then sighed.

"I apologize for all of this, little one. Truly." He turned back to me, fixing me to the spot with his discordant gaze. "For uprooting you from your life, for putting you in harm's way..."

"Are you apologizing so I'll take you to bed again?" I interrupted, too embarrassed to let him continue. I sat carefully on a very expensive-looking couch.

Emeritus stopped short, blinking.

"I suppose that is what happened last time I asked for your forgiveness. Mmn." He seemed to consider. "In that case, yes. Yes, I am. Is it working?"

"So far so good." I said, letting my head fall back into the soft back of the couch, smiling.

Every time he or the ghouls appeared I felt like I'd fallen through the looking-glass, but, like Alice, I was beginning to find it exciting rather than frightening. Frightening things had happened, certainly, but getting a glimpse of the unseen world around me was more than worth it. The world was much larger, and much more mysterious, than I'd ever known. Or I just had some sort of unconscious suicidal urge. Either way, I was more than happy to be involved.

"Excellent." He said brightly. "Allow me to give you a tour, so that when you drag me off to bed you have some idea of where you're going."

The house had a living room, a dining room complete with antique table and seating for 12, a very empty but modern kitchen, two dormitory-type rooms with adult-sized bunks, and two master bedrooms. Emeritus said the _really_ interesting stuff was in the basement.

He saw to his own ablutions elsewhere while I availed myself of the master bathroom. In the rush, I hadn't grabbed anything like an overnight bag. My purse was huge and well-stocked with the necessities (since I practically lived behind the bar on weekends) but I certainly didn't have a change of clothes in there. I cleaned up as well as I could, fixed my make-up, and felt a bit less bedraggled.

When I went back down to the first floor, Emeritus was back in his more familiar death's head mask, hair slicked back, sleeves rolled up, feet kicked up on the coffee table, a leather-bound book across his lap.

"Ah, welcome back." He closed the book with a snap, mismatched eyes glowing against the mask's blackened sockets. He'd traded one mask for another, but at least now the real contours of his face (not to mention his hair) had returned. He had the top button of his dress-shirt undone, exposing his throat and the shallow notch between his clavicles. It was the most of him I'd ever seen.

"Alright, my lovely, let's get down to brass tacks, as they say. Ah. They _do_ say that, don't they?"

"Yes, they do."

"Perfect." I followed him to the kitchen, where a heavy oak door led to the basement. The staircase was creaky and dimly lit, clearly older than the upper levels of the house, and descended far deeper into the earth than I expected. The air smelled slightly mildewy, as old basements always did, but was also heavy with the scent of sage and sandalwood. This was more like what I expected from a den of Luciferians.

Finally at the bottom, Papa clicked on a light switch, and the space was dimly illuminated by an ancient light fixture. There was no space on any wall that wasn't being utilized by jars of what might have been herbs, books, candles and oil lamps, and piles of brittle looking paper. The floor was well-trodden earth, but someone had thrown more Persian carpets down to cover most of it. There was a workstation, a stool, and an unassuming floral print couch.

Emeritus crossed the floor and searched through the drawers of the desk until he found a box of matches, then set about lighting a few lamps.

"Do make yourself comfortable, my dear." He rumbled, back to me. I sat on the little couch, heart pounding again. This was the first time I'd seen Emeritus in something like his natural element, and I was enjoying it quite a bit. It probably goes without saying that I really enjoyed a man who knew his way around an alchemy lab.

He'd gone back to digging through the workstation.

"I should explain why I brought you to this place specifically. This house..." He started, finding a stick of chalk and stooping down to roll up the largest rug. "...was built here a very long time ago, by the, ah, friends of the rebel Angels. It is positioned between four crossroads, surrounded by the Cascades on three sides and water on the fourth. Under the ground, four laylines converge at this very spot-- another crossroads. The wards we passed through have been continually reinforced since at least the 1880's by devotees. The original structure has been torn down and rebuilt twice, always atop this foundation. You will be safe here, for at least as long as our kingdom stands."

He was drawing a huge sigil on the floor now with the chalk, a circle surrounded by flowing script like I had never seen before.

"This is also one of the few places on the west coast grounded thoroughly enough for me to do what I'm about to without bringing the entire Angelic army down on our heads."

My heart was still trying to beat itself out of my chest.

"...And what are you doing?" I asked.

Emeritus, seemingly happy with his sigil, sat beside me on the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers laced. Being on the receiving end of his gaze was always an experience, but this time he had a particular intensity I hadn't seen.

"Nothing without your consent, know this. It's true that you've been...ah, introduced to this conflict unwittingly, which I regret. I will not, however, demand that you side with us. Hell has always been the underdog in this war. With what you know, Heaven would happily recruit you. Heaven's agents will eventually find you because you were once baptized and confirmed into the Church. If it is your choice to be found, then you need to do nothing other than go back outside the wards. If instead you want to sever that link with the Church, wipe the slate clean, I can facilitate that. If Heaven is ultimately victorious, however, they will not, ah, appreciate that you have done so."

He looked so serious and earnest, otherwise I would have stopped him before he could finish. Like I'd told Aether earlier in that day, I'd chosen my side years ago.

"Emeritus, really? Can you see me quietly submitting my will? Being pious and obedient and chaste? Singing hymns and hanging out with judgey dead assholes?"

He laughed quietly.

"I had to ask. If I didn't I'd be as bad as the Church." He reasoned.

"I appreciate that. But if Heaven wins, I'll have far bigger problems." "Well. In that case, have a seat inside the sigil. This won't take a minute."

* * *

 

It really actually took about five minutes, most of which involved Emeritus murmuring in rapid Latin and shifting a smoldering bundle of sage around the circle, intermittently pelting me with salt. From my own studies I knew that ritual was only a framework to guide intent. So I focused, visualizing all my considerable ex-Catholic baggage disappearing. Guilt, shame, fear, dread, and yet more shame, all evaporating like smoke.

"That should do it, my dear." I heard Emeritus say.

I opened my eyes. He was standing at the workbench. When he turned back around he had two antique gin glasses in one hand, and a dusty bottle of what looked like bourbon in the other. He pulled the cork with his teeth, then sat down on the ground again, handing me a glass and pouring a little amber liquid into it. He poured some for himself.

" _Salutaria_!" He said, toasting me.

"Is this part of the ritual?" I said, taking a sip and recoiling, eyes watering.

"Hah! No, I just found this in the bottom drawer." He drank, then winced.

"Sweet Satan, our brothers and sisters do not fuck around when it comes to hard liquor." He rasped, pushing his glass away.

"Well, you now have a clean slate, my dear. And since I am a wicked, sinful demon of the Pit, I of course must do my best to besmirch you. However, since I'm also a generous soul, I'll give you a ten second lead."

I wasn't sure at first what he was talking about.

"Wha--?" I started.

He held up all ten fingers, then folded his pinkie.

"Nine second lead!" He said happily, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

I stood and scrambled for the stairs, a little shriek escaping.

"Eight seconds!" Emeritus called out politely as I thundered up the rickety stairs, sliding around the corner and into the kitchen, laughing breathlessly.

I pulled my boots off one at a time, hopping awkwardly through the foyer. I darted up the stairs as quietly as I could, then looked around on the second floor landing, thinking. I raced off toward one of the dormitory rooms, just sliding in behind the open door in the dark before I heard Emeritus close the door to the basement.

My heart was racing, and not just from sprinting up two flights of stairs. I felt myself grinning in the darkness, trying to quiet my breaths, looking out into the hallway through the tiny crack between the door and it's frame.

Several long moments passed before I heard soft footfalls on the landing. I held my breath, pressing myself against the wall as he walked silently down the hallway. I watched him as he went, noting his well-practiced, silent steps, the set of shoulders, the way he brushed his fingertips along the wall as he went. Emeritus wasn't going to find me easy quarry.

I breathed slowly and carefully, sliding out from around the door and creeping into the light. I moved as he did, eyes glued on his back. Just a few steps closer... A millisecond before I could pounce he turned, cackling dramatically, trying to grab me by the waist.

I slid out of his grasp, shrieking with laughter, and made for the stairs. Faster than any human could possibly move, he slid past me, blocking my egress. He put his hands on his hips in faux sternness, eyes narrowed, some hair falling in his face.

"Thought you'd turn the tables, eh? Little do you know--" He started into a speech, giving me a good chance to turn around and race down the hall the opposite way.

I turned into one of the larger bedrooms, slamming the door shut behind me. Then I realized that the door didn't lock. Fucking Luciferians and their complete lack of traditional security.

I needn't have worried, as Emeritus materialized out of the empty darkness and was on me before I could even yelp.

He kissed me forcefully, pinning me to the door by the wrists. I could feel laughter rumbling through his chest and into mine.

"That's cheating--" I managed to gasp as he bit me between my neck and shoulder.

"I work for the Great Deceiver, my sweet." He growled, one of his hip bones grinding into me almost painfully.

The tone of his voice alone would have been enough to make my body take notice, but between that, his conquest of my throat, and the feeling of his very evident arousal against my thigh, he had me right where he wanted me. Again. I slid my wrists out of his grasp, putting my hands flat on his chest and pushing him away.

"Lose the mask." I said, hoping he couldn't tell how immediately, painfully turned on I was.

I wouldn't be manipulated so easily. He raised an eyebrow at me, I think, in the near-darkness. Then he crossed the room, sweeping the velvet curtains closed and plunging us into blackness.

"As you wish, _carissima_ , though it's worth noting that only one of us needs light to see..."

"Damnit." I said aloud.

He just laughed quietly from somewhere on the other side of the room. In the stillness, I felt the vague shimmery sensation of reality being reordered. Emeritus stepped forward again. My legs wobbled.

Adrenaline was thundering through me hard enough to make my whole body shiver. Between my legs, the sensation of warmth had turned painful again. I clamped down hard on the urge to whimper. I couldn't see or even hear him, but I felt the air move around his body.

He sidled up close to me. I stayed perfectly still, eyes fixed on nothing.

"Why are you always keeping your pleasure a secret from me, little one?"

I let out a nervous little laugh. I didn't have a good answer to that.

"Well. There's no need to." He murmured, close enough that I could feel his breath on my face. His hand came up, cupping my jaw, his thumb trailing along my bottom lip for a moment before he replaced it with his mouth.

I touched his face again-- his true face-- then buried my fingers in his hair. He hoisted me up, hands under my backside, my legs instinctively going around his hips, hands on his shoulders. He ground into me again, letting me feel his arousal against my own, and that time I _did_ gasp.

"That's better." He said, his own voice a little breathy. He turned us, took a few steps, and deposited me on the huge bed.

He didn't follow immediately, but instead slid his hands up my legs from knees to hips, then under my shirt. His hands were very warm, pausing briefly at my waist, then again over my bra, thumbs finding the hard points of my nipples and pressing until I gasped again.

His hands moved higher, helping me slide out of the shirt and tossing it away. I felt his knees on either side of my legs. I leaned forward and up, trying to catch his mouth. He giggled, evading me easily in the total darkness.

"You always have to be in charge, hmm?" I asked dryly.

Emeritus snorted.

"Please, I'm archangelo. It comes with the territory." He said, but relented and leaned down toward me.

He returned my kisses languidly, bracing himself on his elbows. I was working on unbuckling his waistcoat, then undoing his shirt buttons.

He was more efficient, simply pushing my bra aside with one hand and shifting to explore further with his mouth.

I lost my train of thought, arching up, seeing stars behind my closed eyelids. He caught my lips in mid-gasp, plunging his tongue into my mouth, rumbling an appreciative noise of his own.

I finally wrangled him out of his shirt. Emeritus broke the kiss at last.

"Slide up." He said.

I did as he asked, pushing myself up to a more conventional spot on the bed. He followed, nudged my legs apart with his knee, deftly removed my bra, then went to work undoing my jeans. He stripped them off, along with my underwear. Before I could even make an attempt at his belt buckle he was nipping the soft flesh of my inner thigh, eliciting a surprised yelp from me.

He laughed again, almost silently, shifting bashfully (or so I imagined) away.

"Sorry, sweet one. I've been a little...tightly-wound...since our last encounter." He murmured dryly, brushing his face softly against my bare stomach.

"Is that so?" I dead-panned, putting my hand on his head and pushing him back down between my legs. Emeritus made a faux scandalized gasp.

"And I thought you were shy!" He growled, nipping at my thigh again, this time hard enough to leave a mark.

Before I could even register indignation, he was tasting me, and thought evaporated. He rumbled a happy sound as my body relaxed, gradually becoming totally boneless. He leaned into my bent leg, seeking better access. I let him have it; I'd forgotten that I was trying not to let him know his effect on me. In fact, I'd forgotten why I ever wanted to.

"Em...eri..."

"Mmn, I know. It's a difficult name. For moments like this."

He managed to make this statement sound casual, despite marking each pause by gently introducing two slick fingers into me.

I wriggled out of his grasp, breathless. When he sat up I found his belt. Laughing, we tousled for a moment, before I accomplished hauling him around by it and pushing him down into the bed. I straddled his legs, finally undoing his pants and pushing them gracelessly down and away.

Finally at my mercy, Emeritus contented himself with running his hands up my ribs and down over my hips, squeezing gently. I touched his chest and shoulders and throat, kissing him slowly and deliberately, letting my breasts just barely brush against his chest.

Then I touched him where I hadn't yet dared, sending a little electric shiver through him. I stroked him slowly, still exploring, and his breath hitched a little with each movement.  

"My name's not easy, either. Nobody ever spells it right." I informed him.

He squirmed a little, arching into my touch with a deep sigh.

"Oh yes?" He breathed.

"Oh yes. It's 'Meliora'."

Emeritus practically purred.

"Latin! That's beautiful, little one. It suits you."

I probably blushed, absurdly.

"Come up here, Meliora." He said, possibly the first person to pronounce my name correctly since college.

I leaned forward, settling myself over him. He pressed against me, hard where I was soft. I stayed with it, grinding slowly over his length but not quite letting him enter. I was rewarded with a little burst of whispered, slightly filthy-sounding Latin.

"What was that?" I asked sweetly, shivering, devoting all my self-control to staying poised over him. I was enjoying the moment, knowing that he wouldn't submit for long.

Abruptly, he shifted us, coming to rest on top of me, weight on his elbows. I shrieked with laughter. He bit my neck again.

"I said, 'What a lovely time this is, hooray for carnal relations.'" He warbled.

"No you didn't."

"No, I didn't." He agreed, entering me with one slow, smooth movement of his hips.

I gasped, arching up to meet him with my own hips. My body stretched deliciously to accommodate his presence within me. I encircled him with my legs. I may have cried out; my awareness of the sounds he was eliciting from me was long gone. He moved again, plundering my mouth, one hand between us where our bodies merged, feeling his effect on me from within and without.

"How could this be a sin?" He said directly into my mind, the ghost of his voice whispering over my awareness.

* * *

 

I'm not sure how long we spent tangled up in each other. We came together, keyed into each other not only physically but metaphysically, thought and sensation flowing freely between us.

I was exhausted _before_ he fucked me senseless, after, I felt like I was in a very satisfied waking dream. I climbed out of his arms and moved gingerly to the bathroom, remembering at the last moment not to turn on the light. Eventually, I'd ask what the mask was about. Not now, though.

When I felt my way back over to the bed, I discovered that Emeritus had managed to climb under the bedclothes. I slid in beside him, his nose against my ear, and his arm flopped over me in an exhausted attempt at an embrace.

"The war is going to come here soon, to this realm. And Morning Star is still missing." He murmured.

I caught the implication. It was all fun and games at the moment, but perhaps not for much longer. There was an apocalypse on, after all. He had duties beyond this realm and my limited understanding. And I, for my part, had no intention of sitting around on the sidelines.

" _Fiat iustitia et pereat mundus_." I said, pleased with myself for remembering something from my classical studies classes. 'Let justice be done, though the world may perish'.

Emeritus chuckled into my ear.

"Well said." He whispered.

**Finis! ...Except for this epilogue.**

" _Fucksakes, Papa. You were supposed to teach her to shield her thoughts_." Aether's spectral voice floated past his awareness.

Emeritus' eye creaked open like a door on a rusty hinge. He'd been just about to sink into a lovely post-coital slumber.

" _Shield your own thoughts.  I'm busy._ " He thought back grumpily.

 _"I know you are! We're all going to have nightmares about how busy you've been!_ " Aether shouted, metaphorically speaking.

" _And I've been doing multiplication tables and saying the alphabet backwards over here and I'm still getting the occasional, uh, flash."_

" _Aether. If you don't shut up I'll broadcast every dirty thought that crosses my mind. And I have_ lots _."_ Emeritus replied.

 _"I hate you."_ Aether finally said.

" _Mmhmm_." He thought, then kicked him out of his head.


End file.
